


Pigeon problems

by Foodlover06



Series: just do what you do and hope you don't die [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (Platonically) - Freeform, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Friends, I Don't Even Know, It's so stupid honestly, Just complete randomness, Peter hates pigeons, Pigeons, Team Red
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-27 23:10:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20054095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foodlover06/pseuds/Foodlover06
Summary: Peter hates pigeons with a passion.





	Pigeon problems

**Author's Note:**

> I. I don't know. My brain comes up with strange ideas at 1 AM. Reading back through this, I confused even myself.

The spider-sense tingled in the base of Peter's skull and he caught the fist flying toward the back of his head - he didn't even have to try, honestly. The punch was weak and sloppy and utterly pitiful. Were these guys really even trying?

The robbers' guns were stuck on the ceiling, where Peter had webbed them within the first, like, ten seconds of the fight. The criminals were _horribly _incompetent. They brought slander to the good name of supervillains everywhere.

He'd been thankfully accepting a lollipop from a sweet old lady whom he'd rescued from the very aggressive, (and frankly terrifying) pigeon who had been harassing her. Though, she had been holding her own quite impressively, whacking the bird with her handbag and screeching obscenities.

Honestly. Who would've thought such a kind little granny could have such a mouth? Aunt May's fingers would be itching for a bar of soap.

After the foul beast had been vanquished and his reward was collected and his cheeks were sufficiently pinched, Peter had continued along his patrol.

He saw five sketchy-looking dudes in black, ski masks obscuring their faces, making their way into a bank (Which, how cliche could you get? Their genius plan clearly drew its inspiration from a movie-marathon of low budget 1980's heist films) before they pulled a gun on the man behind the single man behind the desk. (Getting even more cliche, but now Peter was slightly concerned for the life of the poor guy. Then again, he _was _a New Yorker. For them, was just another regular Tuesday).

He jumped off the rooftop and swung over to the bank. Then he literally took the front door. The idiots didn't even bother to station a guard.

"Put your hands up and give us all your money!" The baddie said, pointing a gun at the bank guy.

"It's the twenty-first century, man," bank guy said, exasperated, as though this were an everyday occurrence. It probably was. New York, ladies and gentlemen. "We don't just _leave_ the cash lying around. You've been watching too many low budget 1980's heist films. Also, look, Spider-Man's right there."

The criminals all whirled around, looking completely shocked to see Peter. Which they shouldn't have been, because again, _New York,_ superheroes were as common as dirt and multiplied like bunnies.

Basic rules of robbing a bank - number one, don't. But if you do feel compelled to break that one, at _least _watch your backs for an approaching vigilante. Peter didn't even know how they had missed him - the bright red-and-blue spandex weren't exactly inconspicuous, but these guys _had_ already proved themselves to be incredibly stupid. He didn't encourage bank-robbing, obviously, but watching this attempt was actually hurting his soul.

Which brought Peter to the fight that was happening now. Within the five minute mark, the baddies were webbed, and a note was written to the police.

The _pigeon_ had caused more of a hassle than these dudes.

Peter turned to bank guy, who had been scrolling through Twitter throughout the whole ordeal. Bank guy surveyed the room - which was in a bit of a disarray - then lifted his eyes back to Peter. "Welp. My boss is going to have an aneurysm. Anyways, I'm Greg, you got time for a selfie?"

"Totally," Peter agreed. He and Greg posed for a photo, five robbers in the background glaring at the camera. Greg was uploading the photo to Twitter as Peter left.

The police had arrived. Peter flashed them a thumbs-up as they were screaming at him to get down and put his hands up, and took his leave.

He recognized the part of the city he was in. There was a really great hot-dog vendor just two blocks down, so Peter decided to walk there. He gave a fist bump to a little girl wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt.

Suddenly, the spider-sense tingled in the back of his mind, and he looked up just in time to see --

\-- it was back.

The savage _beast_. The menace that had been terrorizing the streets. A harbinger of evil. An enemy who had returned, seeking vengeance.

The _pigeon._

It was in his face before Peter could blink. He gave a - very manly and not at all squeaky - yelp, stumbled backwards, and tripped over the curb.

His ankle twisted in a way that ankles should not go. The stupid bird looked supremely pleased with Peter's suffering. He bared his teeth at it, to no avail.

Alas! He had been bested. Armed robbers he could take, but to be reduced to such helplessness by a mere _vermin _was utmost humiliation.

The pigeon flapped away, leaving Peter nursing a sprained ankle. Peter narrowed his eyes at its retreating form. It was a worthy enemy indeed.

Well. His ankle may be incapacitated, but the rest of him was just fine. And Spider-Man wouldn't rest until this villain had been put into its place.

He shot a web and gave chase. The bird was _fast, _and Peter's ankle was hurt. It would heal quickly, but still. 

Eventually, he realized he'd wandered and had no idea where he was, and faltered. The little rascal took the chance to fly away. 

Right now, his first priority was to find a vendor and buy a hot dog like he'd been planning. His second was to figu_re out where the heck he wa_s.

The hot dog was easy. Peter swung up to sit on a rooftop to eat, kicking his legs and staring moodily out at the city.

One day. One day he was going to catch that bird and make it wish it had never been born. Well. He wouldn't _torture _it. Peter wasn't a torture-y kind of dude. It would mess with his whole "friendly neighborhood Spider-Man" vibe. Maybe he'd bring it to animal control.

He decided to name the pigeon Claude. After all, it simply wouldn't do for his new mortal enemy to go nameless.

He was still glaring out at the city when he heard the soft thump of a person landing. He turned around and saw Daredevil.

Normally, he'd be happy to see the man, but after his showdown with Claude, he was _so _not in the mood.

Daredevil - Matt Murdock - was one of the heroes who worked exclusively in Hell's Kitchen, so at least Peter knew where he was now. Well, maybe he wasn't exactly a _hero. _The Bugle claimed he was a violent, unhinged lunatic who needed to be captured and put in a cell.

(Then again, they also claimed that Spider-Man was a spineless heathen trying to topple the economy, and everyone knew they were full of crap).

Matt looked very much like he was going to attack Peter. Peter wasn't worried - it was just his face. He just had one of those faces.

Peter watched the other man blankly and swallowed a bite of hot dog before speaking

in a tired monotone.

"Pigeons," he informed the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, "are a menace."

Matt nodded, then asked him, "Why are you here?" He dropped the gravely Daredevil voice when he was around people he knew - it was reserved for villains. Peter personally thought it was a good thing; some people found it intimidating, but it mostly just made him want to give Matt a cough drop.

"_P__igeons,_" Peter spat, crushing the hot dog in his hands. There mere thought made his blood boil. 

"Mm, I'm sorry," DD said, nodding understandingly. Then he paused, looking thoughtful, then spoke again. "Actually, this is convenient. I was going to ask you to come with me for a break-in, Saturday at 10. The usual rooftop. A drug deal going on between a couple big gangs. You're good at taking on large groups with your webs. Also, you're the only one who can keep Deadpool on his leash."

"Wade's gonna be there too?" Peter asked, surprised.

"Yup," Matt sighed. "He insisted. Team bonding, he said it was."

Ah. Wade was obsessed with team bonding. 

"Alright, sure," Peter replied. "Why are you out in the middle of the day, anyways?"

Matt wrinkled his nose. "_P__igeons_," he snarled with venom.

Peter made a noise of sympathy and decided it was better not to ask. Pigeons truly were vile creatures. "Kay, meet you in a few days, then? I'm gonna head back to Queens."

Matt grunted in confirmation and Peter began to swing away, before he realized that he was completely lost.

He turned back sheepishly, and asked, "Uh... where _is _Queens?"

Matt pointed left with an exasperated expression, but Peter knew him well enough to see the fondness there. Well. Partially fond. 20%. Or maybe just exasperated.

Peter shot a web and swung through the buildings, ankle fully healed by now.

(And if he stopped to growl at every pigeon he came across, well, no one would ever know).

\---

Aunt May gave him permission to go to the raid. She also made it very, very clear that if he came home with even one scratch, she was going to beat Daredevil and Deadpool's heads in.

Aunt May hadn't approved of his working with the two of them, but had begrudgingly accepted it when he insisted that even though they sometimes killed and/or mutilated people, they weren't going to hurt him. She still glared murderously every time she crossed paths with them, though.

Matt and Wade were rightfully terrified of her.

Peter left for the meeting roof in Hell's Kitchen - they had one in almost every neighborhood - and found that Wade was already there.

"Baby boy!" Wade exclaimed excitedly, pulling Peter in for a rib-crushing hug, "I've missed you _so much__!" _

Peter wheezed and gasped and had to resort to using his super-strength to escape, panting. "It hasn't even been two weeks, Wade!"

Wade patted his head and squished his cheeks and told him he looked like a suffocating pigeon.

Peter stiffened, then turned to glare at Wade. "Pigeons," he informed the Merc with a Mouth, "are a menace."

Wade gasped as he realized exactly what he'd just said and apologized profusely for the offence, then told Peter that he was, in fact, a suffocating kitten.

Peter nodded in satisfaction and they waited for Matt.

He arrived and Peter gave Wade the usual 'no killing' speech and they went in.

Overall, it was an easy job - but luckily, not _too _easy, unlike those robbers he'd caught last time. Too many more attempts like those and he'd lose all faith in humanity. 

Wade insisted that they all go out for a celebratory midnight snack. He also insisted that it be tacos, because Wade will be Wade.

Since tomorrow was a Sunday, Peter decided he could afford to stay out a bit later, and the three of them trooped to the nearest 24-hour Taco Bell.

The waitress who served them had a very fake smile plastered onto her face and looked like she desperately needed a cup of coffee. Or five.

No one questioned their presence. Then again, they'd probably seen weirder customers come in at one in the morning.

Peter ordered a coffee. Matt ordered a coffee. Wade ordered a berry-blast smoothie and a platter of nachos and eight crunchy tacos.

The waitress looked as though she wished to shoot him and then herself.

Peter could sympathize.

He was sipping his coffee, half-asleep and feeling incredibly irritable - people always told him he was a different person when he didn't get enough sleep - when he heard a _tap tap tap _noise coming from the window and tensed up.

Oh. Heck. No.

Sitting outside the window, eyes gleaming in the darkness, was Claude.

Suddenly wide-awake, Peter stood up, slamming his hands down on the table. He gritted his teeth. This was it. His chance to get his revenge.

He abandoned his teammates and went outside. Matt snagged his remaining coffee and poured it into his cup and chugged it aggressively, glaring at the pigeon.

When he got outside, he and Claude immediately engaged in an intense staring contest.

Claude whimpered.

Peter frowned, then suddenly realized - Claude was _injured_. His feathers were all ruffled stained dark, and one of his wings was bent at an unnatural angle.

Peter wanted to hate Claude. He really, really did. But the poor thing just looked so pitiful, all alone in the dark.

He debated with himself for a little. On one hand, this _was _his mortal enemy. On the other, he couldn't just _abandon_ Claude, despite the bad blood between them.

He made his decision. Matt didn't approve. He said he had an ax to grind with their kind and that Peter was betraying him, but Peter just laughed and left with Claude, who had fallen unconscious, tucked carefully in his arms. 

He couldn't swing for fear of hurting Claude, so he took a cab. The driver was a New Yorker too. He didn't bat an eye.

Peter entered the apartment - May was already asleep - and grabbed the first-aid kit. He didn't know a lick of first aid, so he turned to the most reliable source in the world: the internet.

Following instructions from WikiHow, he set Claude's wing, then gently wiped away the blood and tucked the bird to sleep.

_\---_

The next day, Peter was woken by obnoxious screeching from Claude, who was trying to fly but couldn't with the broken wing. 

Luckily, May hadn't woken. But when Peter tried to shut Claude up, the bird had the audacity to try and _bite _him.

Hmph. Ungrateful pest.

Peter went to the kitchens, and, after a little rifling, returned with a box of bland whole grain cereal and a box of honey nut Cheerios. He put them in two separate piles in front of Claude. After a little sniffing, the pigeon began pecking at the Cheerios.

Huh. Smart bird.

Claude, as it turns out, was much friendlier when full. He cooed at Peter and hopped onto his shoulder and began chewing his hair. Peter let him hang around until it was time for patrol, then bodily threw the bird out the window. 

Claude returned that night for more Cheerios.

\---

The next time Peter met up with Matt and Wade, Claude also decided to make an appearance.

He landed on Peter's head and rolled his neck around like a rooster while making strange clucking noises.

Wade screamed and asked Peter why there was a tiny grey chicken on his head and where could he get one.

"We were mortal enemies, once, ages and ages ago," Peter said airily, waving a hand. "But we've overcome our differences and grown closer, and now we're best friends."

Claude made a noise of sympathy and nestled deeper into Peter's hair. Peter reached up and patted his head affectionately.

Matt growled disapprovingly, told Peter, "_I've _still got a score to settle with those creatures. I don't care if you decide to get all friendly with the enemy, _I'll _never turn to the dark side," and proceeded to give Peter disappointed side-eyes for the rest of the day.

Claude cooed and pooped on his head.

**Author's Note:**

> We love our stupid Marvel vigilantes.


End file.
